The Timer Articles
by PersonifyThis
Summary: If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know? Arthur's answer is a resounding no, but with The New York Times offering to pay him triple for each article written on the experience, he can't refuse. Soul mate and human AU
1. Chapter 1

AN: I've been cheating on The Way Things Seem with this. I felt like I needed practice writing Arthur. The prompt is from the kink meme and I've been putting it up there, but have only gotten one review on it. So if you guys would letting me know how my Artie comes across I'd really, really appreciate it.

Prompt: When implanted in a person's wrist, a Timer counts down to the day the wearer finds true love. If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know? The interesting premise that people can get Timers telling them when they will meet their soul mate. Francis thinks he has lots of them and is secretly insecure and afraid of being lonely or left. Arthur thinks he's better alone and doesn't buy the Timer's crap even if inside he really wishes to find his soul mate. Make it happen somehow, good funny, tense and original EnglandxFrancis. Bonus: if sex Arthur tops! hell yes...

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><p>The Timer Articles<p>

Arthur sat across from his boss while the other man loomed over his desk. Papers were stacked high and three half-empty mugs of coffee sat forgotten on the desk. Two different tablets were flashing in the corner and Arthur could hear the morning rush as people were trying to wrap up the latest edition of the paper. Of course all of his articles had all been handed in yesterday and submitted to editing. The day that he was caught running around the newsroom like a witless chicken was the day he pronounced his undying love for a Frenchmen.

Arthur focused back on Ludwig's unappealing offer, "We'd pay the expense of having it implanted and double your current commission on every Timer piece written until you meet your soul mate."

Arthur grit his teeth, "Why do you want me to write this so badly?" Arthur demanded.

"It's almost Valentine's Day and everyone loves a good soul mate search."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the answer and Ludwig continued on, "and Hourglass International is paying us top dollar for running the story."

Arthur threw his hands up in the air, "Absolutely not!"

Ludwig huffed in exasperation, "Arthur you're not really in a place where you can turn down a project like this."

No, he wasn't but even still. A Timer. How utterly tween. How insufferably sentimental. Arthur glowered at the other writers through the glass. He was content with his gardening columns and People's Court segments. When he asked for more work he hadn't thought he'd get offered this tripe.

Ludwig continued on, "If your not due to meet them for several years you'll only be responsible for one article every six months and one for major holidays. The commission price would be set on a scale to increase as the years do."

"I don't like it," Arthur grumbled.

"That's fine," the blonde growled, "You don't have to. Some of the more skeptical buyers might be relieved to hear that. Make it seem like it's not just a product for needy thirty-somethings desperate for a ring."

Arthur grit his teeth, trying to imagine what it would be like writing about his personal life for the foreseeable future and felt queasy. But Alfred was going to need new baseball equipment in the spring and Matthew had just been offered a place at the Summer Music Intensive he'd been desperate to get into. The Briton rolled his neck and sighed.

"Triple my going rate," Arthur demanded, "If everyone else is going to be a voyeuristic leech about my soul mate search then I want triple."

"Done," Ludwig agreed immediately.

The correction was made in red ink on the contract and Arthur signed the dotted line with a flourish.

"Your appointment is this afternoon," Ludwig said.

Arthur pushed down the growing feeling of unease by thinking of the bills he'd be able to pay off. At least he wasn't doing this project twenty years ago when the technology was still new. Now people were used to seeing the occasional person with a Timer ticking away on their wrist. It was still a novelty, it wouldn't be the side show that he'd witnessed several times as a child.

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><p>Timers weren't pre-set devices, that's why each one was so expensive. They all had to be custom made. When Arthur walked into the waiting room at Hourglass International he was prepared for luxury, but the opulence was overwhelming. He could pay for Al and Mattie's schooling for the next four years if he could get away with one of those jade statues. He scowled at the green elephants. There were so many better uses for that money.<p>

A slim blonde greeted him from behind the counter. She was beautiful with an angular face that reminded him of a feline. Her hair was just a shade paler than honey that floated around her face in loose curls. She was the kind of woman that should have no problem finding a partner, but nestled under her skin were five lines of ruby numbers. Three years, eight months, four days, one hour and eleven minutes. Arthur's eyes flicked up to hers and she smiled at him. Her smile was straight and white like tiny little pearls.

Arthur set his face into a frown, "Arthur Kirkland from The New York Times."

"Yes Mr. Kirkland, we've been expecting you."

A thick packet of forms were slid across the counter to him. The blonde cheerfully explained, "If you could just fill these out for us while you wait."

Arthur's frown deepened, he'd never heard of paperwork before. Just show up have them insert the Timer and poof, you got a soul mate. Arthur stalked over to a chair and sat down primly. A blue pen was clipped to the top of the board. Arthur filled in his personal information before looking over the rest of the page.

The paper was cluttered with open ended questions and true or false. Arthur growled but settled in, if he was going to get a Timer then it was going to find him the best bloody soul mate possible because he wasn't sure how an average person would make his life any better. Question One: When alone in public, do you usually start conversations with strangers? Arthur raised his eyes heavenward. He might need a little divine intervention to make it through this process with his sanity intact.

Once he had worked his way through their questions with several, NO ABSOLUTELY NOTs, scratched into the paper Arthur was taken to the back. The implant room was rather like a doctors office only with better quality furniture. He took the time alone to scribble a few notes to himself, some of the more idiotic questions were recorded (really the audacity to ask if he would rather be caught masturbating by his mother or father!) and the obvious receptionist slash advertisement on legs.

In today's world it was still somewhat of a novelty to see someone with a Timer so it was no fuss to sneak a peak at someone's Timer. But to blatantly put a sleeveless, young receptionist with a short countdown at the front desk screamed of emotional manipulation. Arthur wasn't sure how many other people would catch that but he'd make it glaringly obvious so not even Alfred could miss it.

The door opened and a middle aged man stepped inside. Arthur flipped his notebook closed and stood to greet the man. From under the hem of his coat Arthur could see an ice blue numbers with twelve years on the top line. Arthur winced, another reason that he wasn't thrilled with this moronic idea. If he had to wait forty years to find his supposed soul mate he wasn't sure he wanted to be reminded of that every time he looked at his wrist.

"Hi Arthur, my name is Dr. Stanford. I'll be implanting your Timer," the man grinned as they shook hands. If he were any happier Arthur was sure his tongue would be lolling out of his mouth like puppy on his first car ride.

"Please, it's Mr. Kirkland, if you would Doctor," Arthur replied and returned to his seat.

The doctor's smile dimmed for a moment before coming back full blast, "Of course! Sorry about that Mr. Kirkland. I'm just so excited to be working with you. After all it's not often we have famous writers implanted."

"Understand Doctor," Arthur said the word with all the distaste that he could muster, "that were I not being paid to write about this little," he pursed his lips, "experience, I never would have stepped within a hundred meter radius of this office."

Dr. Stanford winced and nodded. When he continued his tone was decidedly less... bouncy.

"Well I just need to collect a few samples so the Timer won't be rejected after implantation. Then we'll..." he glumly prattled on as he completed the collection in precise movements. Arthur struggled not to lecture the man on pouting. He likewise restrained himself from asking why the man had felt it necessary to do a nurse's work. Overall he was ready for this deplorable experience to be at an end. With a final clipping from Arthur's nails, Dr. Stanford slipped off his gloves.

"The Timer will be ready in a week. You can schedule an appointment to pick it up on your way out."

Arthur nodded and slid down from the examination chair. His mind was already revising the grocery list now that he had a little extra money. Real maple syrup for Matthew and Häagen-Dazs ice cream for Alfred.

"Good afternoon then," he said as he strode from the door.

Arthur pushed open the door to their flat with his hip. Yellow bags of groceries hung from his arms. The walls vibrated from Matthew's music.

"Boys, I'm home!" He called up the stairs.

There was no response. Arthur rolled his eyes and continued on to the kitchen. With all the bags hanging from him he could almost pretend the aching in his wrist was from the weight rather than the thing in his arm. Arthur settled the bags on the counter and made his way upstairs. He passed by Alfred's room for the one pulsing with music.

He knocked on the door once before opening it. Twin blonde heads whipped up. Alfred was sprawled across Matthew's bed with textbooks scattered around him while Matthew was at his desk. Arthur smiled at the sight. Matthew lowered the music.

"I'm home," he announced and not even a second had gone by when Alfred was scrambling off the bed.

"Whoa Artie!" Alfred exclaimed, "You didn't tell us you were getting a Timer!"

Matthew nodded next to him, his gaze still fixed on Arthur's still sore wrist. Blast! He'd forgotten his sleeves wouldn't cover the damn thing.

"I'm making dinner," he said retreating from the room.

"Wait!"

He could hear both of his brothers following him so Arthur kept his pace quick. Hopefully if he got down to the kitchen he'd be able to distract them with junk food… or fend them off with a pan. He didn't run from them, a hasty retreat if that, but none the less, the boys cornered him in the living room.

"Come on! You can't just get a Timer and not tell us about it!"

"Yeah they're really expensive," Matthew joined in, "I didn't know you wanted one. We could've saved up and got it for your birthday."

Arthur huffed, "I didn't want it. It's for the Times."

"Can I see it?" Matthew asked with wide eyes.

With a groan Arthur settled himself into his chair and raised his arm up for the boys to look at. Best they do it now otherwise they'd try to sneak a look while he was sleeping tonight. Alfred whooped and raced over. His big hands yanked on Arthur's arm to get the Timer closer to his face.

"Gentle Alfred!" Arthur chastised.

"Sorry, sorry," he replied and Arthur could see the boy smiling even with his eyes closed.

Matthew's cold fingers replaced Alfred's and the manhandling became far more soothing then it had any reason to be. He could hear the boys whispering about dinner and Arthur made an effort to keep from sleep's embrace, but drowsily realized he had already crossed the boarder into dreamland.

That night Arthur stared at his wrist using the glow from his reading light. More specifically, the numbers on them. The pad of his pointer finger dragged around the navy blue zero. He was glad the color wasn't a garish orange or pink. He would have had to wrap his wrist in bandages everyday if that were the case. The numbers were cursive-like and reminded Arthur of mist on a London morning. The five lines read zero years, five months, twenty seven days, nine hours and fifteen minutes. The blonde peered over at the calendar hanging on the wall. He did the math, July, 3 at 8:13 am. Then he used his fingers and double checked. When the date and time remained the same Arthur rolled over and buried himself under the covers. Of course it'd be then. Maybe he'd get himself a new bracelet in the morning. A thick leather one. Yes, that sounded like a brilliant idea.

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><p>The next few weeks progressed as they normally would. After the entries on receiving the implant, his writing had thinned. Ludwig furiously instructed him to write about what his ideal soul mate was like or his fears about the search. After a month of less than satisfactory work Ludwig threatened to cut his work on the People's Court (which was really the most fun he had while writing) so he could spend more time on The Timer Articles. So Arthur buckled down. He was a professional.<p>

One snowy night after the boys were in bed, Arthur cracked open a cold beer and pulled out his laptop. The cursor blinked innocently at him. Arthur set his fingers to the keys and stalled. He let his head drop on the back of the couch and closed his eyes, trying to imagine his perfect soul mate. When he drew a blank he decided to start with everyone else and hope some focus would come as he wrote.

12/02/14

Secretly we all wonder what our soul mates would be like. The thought keeps teenager girls up past their bed times and has businessmen daydream through afternoon meetings. My soul mate is not one I've waxed poetically on in the past. He (because if my Timer tries to give me a woman I'll swear off all romantic contact and become a monk) wouldn't be anything like me. He'd be sweet and charming with a ridiculous grin rather than a fierce glare. We'd argue over world literature and debate the virtues of socialism.

Arthur got stuck after that. He deleted several frivolous line and the timid line that, He'd love my cooking,' was relegated to the bottom of the page where he couldn't see it. Fantasies like, He'd be alright helping me raise my brothers, didn't get written period. His inner desperation wasn't fit to be aired to the world. The keys clicked away as Arthur continued on.

If we're going to be petty, I'd like him to be shorter than me. I detest looking up at people. Hopefully he'd be from Great Britain because I regularly need to purge myself of American culture by watching Dr. Who marathons and if my soul mate couldn't appreciate that then he'd bloody well better have a better method (read: be an incredible shag) so I can lie back and think of England.

Arthur stared at the litany of wishes scribbled across the page and slammed his laptop closed in disgust. The rest of his beer disappeared in one long gulp. With his closed his eyes Arthur massaged his forehead. He took several deep breaths and tried to reassure himself that a real soul mate wouldn't leave him over his brothers or cultural quirks. Calmer Arthur pulled his eyelids open. Navy numbers loomed in front of his eyes. He yelped and pulled his left hand from his face. Where had that damn bracelet disappeared to?

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><p>It was an ugly March afternoon. Grey clouds hung low in the sky. The last tendril's of winter hung in the air, keeping them from packing away the scarves and mittens. To perk the boys up, Arthur took Matthew and Alfred over to Modca. The trendy café was a favorite of theirs and the perfect place to enjoy something sweet while they all got some work done. The rich smell of coffee hung in the shop. Across from Arthur was a half finished worksheet which was being ignored by Alfred so he could slurp the whip cream off his frozen, blended caramel something or other. Next to him Matthew had some how managed to curl into a ball in his chair. A narrow copy of The Outsiders was perched on his knees.<p>

Arthur glanced back to his own work and grimaced. His inbox was over flowing with comments and questions on the Timer Articles. Over the last ten years, books had been published about the soul mate search, but they were either fictional or dull as all hell. He remembered when he was a boy and David Beckham got his Timer, Arthur had read everything he could get his hands on about it. A loud slurp had Arthur looking up over his screen long enough to raise an eyebrow at Alfred. His brother gave a muttered sorry and Arthur disappeared behind his laptop again.

The list of questions he'd got over the last two months ranged from dull, What's it like having a Timer? to the ridiculous, Can you feel your soul mate through your Timer? Most of them would go unanswered, but others were the perfect fodder for new articles. The one he was set to write on asked, Do people treat you differently when they notice you have a Timer? The answer was easy, yes. Now he just had to go through the gritty bits like how and why.

09/03/14

Everyone is marked by society. Some are inherent marks like gender and race while others are voluntary like fitness, tattoos or piercings. Of course, Timer implants fall into that second category. Before my implant, I perceived people with Timers as rich, type A personalities. It wasn't a conscious distinction, but as a child the people I saw getting Timers were always such people. It may have been true back then, but that's not the case any more.

Yesterday morning I was at David's Tea for a cuppa when a tiny grey haired woman struck up a conversation with me. At first I thought she was just particularly friendly, but our conversation turned towards finding happiness. Only after her third glance down at my wrist did I realize she was interested in my Timer implant. I told her about the experience and asked if she would ever consider an implant. She replied that was that she was, "far too old for such excitement, but it thrilled her to see young people taking a chance on their happy endings." She ended up paying for my tea and continuing on her way without another word. She didn't assume that I had all the money in the world or that I was a control maniac who couldn't stand to be with someone other than their "true match." Rather she just figured that I wanted to find the person that would complete me.

So in short, yes, people do treat you differently when you have a Timer. My experiences have been largely positive, but I can assure you, just as I believed Timers were all rich type A personalities, there are still conservatives who find Timers to be an outrageous emotional-scientific manipulation that caters to the wealthy.

"Hey Artie?"

The older man hummed, still typing. Some of the lines were awkward and others lacked punctuation.

"Do you know Algebra at all?" Alfred asked.

Arthur's fingers paused over the keyboard. He looked up at his brother to see him playing with his straw staring at his math homework.

"A little," Arthur answered, "do you need help?"

Alfred scratched the back of his neck and nodded quickly. Now that Arthur was looking he could see dark smudges on Alfred's paper from where he'd erased his answers.

"Well slide over and let's see if two heads are still better than one," Arthur said.

Alfred pushed his homework across the table. He climbed up onto the chair and leaned into Arthur's shoulder with a sigh. Arthur rubbed the boy's back as he stared down at the paper, trying to remember the last time his math had letters in it.

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><p>AN: Again please let me know how you feel about Arthur! Especially his British-ness :D If anyone is interested in the rest of the fill I've got it almost completely written so I can upload asap!<p>

Disclaimer: Someone just brought it to my attention that there is actually a "TiMER" movie. The first line in the summary was taken from the LJ prompt which was apparently taken from the imdb page (at least from what I can trace) and therefore belongs to who ever originally wrote it. Meaning not me.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thanks for all of the positive feed back about Arthur and the story. You guys rock.

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><p>Arthur was warm and still half asleep as the sun rose. Light peeked in through the curtains like shy fairies. Arthur let his eyes fall shut. He had to get the boys up for school soon and start on breakfast, but not yet. Arthur nuzzled his pillow. So content was he that he missed the squeak of his door and the light footsteps across the floor. It wasn't until a body landed on him did he notice the other person in his bedroom.<p>

"Arthur," Alfred cheered, "Guess what today is?!"

Arthur groaned. He freed and arm to grab the bouncing boy but Alfred scooted out of the way. Cold air brushed his feet as Alfred rumpled the blankets. Arthur swatted at the air to keep the energetic boy away from him.

"Tuesday?" Arthur grimaced as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

"The last day of school and two days until our birthdaaaay!" Alfred sang.

Arthur gave the boy a tight smile. Even though they were twins, Matthew and Alfred weren't actually born on the same day. His mother had delivered Matthew first on at 11:52 pm on July 2. Alfred hadn't arrived until 12:01 am on July 4.

Matthew was hovering by his bedside so Arthur pulled the boy down onto the bed. Matthew laughed and slipped under the covers. A tender smile stole across Arthur's face. The radio started playing a Beatles song as the clock flashed 6:15 am in red. Time to get up.

"Happy birthday to us! Happy birthday to usss!" Alfred continued on above them with Matthew joining intermittently.

Arthur's mind cast back to that day. The doctors desperately wanted to perform a c-section to deliver Alfred but their father wouldn't let them. His mother strained for the next twenty four hours to bring the baby into the world. When Alfred had finally arrived he'd been blue lipped, but squalling. Thirteen year old Arthur was never quite able to forgiven his father for that. When his mother passed away four years later and his father disappeared into a bottle, Arthur's first executive decision for the twin's care was to celebrate their birthday on the third.

He was broken from his memories as Alfred shouted, "Dog pile!"

Alfred smothered his twin into Arthur's stomach. Matthew flailed and smacked Arthur in the nose. Arthur roared, stunning both boys into stillness. With a cackle Arthur took advantage of their pause to pin them both and tickle the crooks of their elbows and necks. They laughed and wiggled, trying to get away. Only when tears streamed down their cheeks did Arthur released them. Both boys scrambled towards the door.

"Breakfast in twenty minutes," he called to their backs.

With a light heart Arthur pulled out a jumper and pair of trousers for the day. The air con groaned in the wall and Arthur flipped it off. It wasn't doing much good anyway. Matthew's music thrummed through the house.

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><p>Before he headed out the door, Arthur wrapped his wrist in the soft leather cuff. The time he was suppose to meet his soul mate was burned into his mind as clearly as it was written on his skin. All the soul mate literature said to go about his regular routine. Arthur was terrified of doing something to keep his soul mate from meeting him. Would the numbers reset if he missed his chance? There was so much room for human error in this contraption. Why couldn't people just meet the old fashion way and be happy?<p>

"Boys! Let's go," he shouted from the doorway. Matthew slipped next to him with a smug grin and headphones dangling from his neck. Stomping came from above them and Arthur sighed.

"He fell back asleep," Matthew said.

Arthur looked at his younger brother, "and you didn't wake him back up."

The new teen smirked, "I'll be in the car," he answered.

Arthur rubbed his forehead and jogged up the stairs. Arthur bellowed, "Alfred Fred-" and pounded on the door. The door burst open before he could finish. Alfred spilled out with one shoe on, his bag dangling over a shoulder and bed head.

"I'm ready!" He exclaimed.

Arthur smacked the back of his head and dragged him down the stairs with him.

"Can't I just grab something really fast?"

"No!" Arthur grumbled, "If you'd got up when I woke you the first time then you could have eaten the lovely birthday breakfast I made you."

The boy whined all the way into the car and even more when he saw that Matthew had claimed the front seat. Matthew teased him about missing breakfast. Unable to stand the sound any longer, Arthur handed over the egg wrap he'd put together, "Happy Birthday, maybe next year you'll make it down for breakfast."

"Aw, Artie you're the best!" Alfred threw his arms around the seat to hug him. The oldest grumbled as he put the car in reverse and glanced at the clock, 7:02 am, barely an hour from now. This morning he could nearly feel the blue numbers dwindling under his skin.

The tire wheels shrieked as Arthur pulled the car into the day camp. He hid a wince. They'd be the next thing to replace with the Timer Articles money. The boys gave him cheeky grins and calls of good luck as they scrambled from the car.

With the boys off, Arthur made his way into work. He was fixedly not looking at his wrist or the clock. He'd meet him when he met him. No use fretting about it. Break lights lit up the bridge and he put the radio on to distract him from the traffic. An abhorrent country song flooded through the car. Arthur slammed his finger into next button and an soft crackling filled the car. The baritone voice was projected to him right from the early 1900s. Arthur let the old song croon to him about, "being there in sunshine and shadows." The song sounded like coming home.

His drive continued like that all the way into Manhattan. Arthur walked through the doors of the newsroom at 8:02 am sweating bullets. Ludwig waved at him through the glass of his office, but Arthur ignored him. He felt like he was going to expel the contents of his stomach at any moment.

What if his soul mate didn't have a Timer? What if they were married? He couldn't have a relationship with his soul mate's wife! He'd heard of them. When one part of a soul pair had already got married then found out their soul mate. Usually the marriage was dissolved, but other times the married soul mate kept on the marital relationship. Arthur didn't think he could handle that. He didn't want to be the reason for a ruined marriage.

"Pardon me?" A lilting voice broke his thoughts, "I'm looking for the Editor, Ludwig Beilschmidt."

Arthur's break caught and his eyes widened. It was a tall, blonde man. His hair was long and pulled back at the nape of his neck. The blonde's smile was warm and lazy like a cat lounging in a patch of sunlight. A small French flag was pinned to the lapel of his sports jacket. Arthur's wrist pulsed and thrummed. The countdown was over. This was him, this was Arthur's soul mate.

"Oh fuck no," the words escaped without his notice.

"Excusez-moi?" the blonde exclaimed.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. It might be an emergency with Alfred or Matthew.

"I have to take this," Arthur gasped and the Frenchmen shrugged before asking his question to the man next to Arthur.

"Hello?" Arthur said dizzily.

"Did you meet him?" Matthew asked.

Arthur's eyes were riveted to the man walking into Ludwig's office. His long legs were wrapped in tight dark-wash jeans. The grey jacket stretched across his shoulders. No one besides the boys knew the date on his Timer. He'd kept it well hidden or wrapped in a leather cuff. He didn't want to have to talk about it more than in the Timer Articles.

"You're suppose to be in class," he stated dumbly.

"Artie's in shock!" Alfred snickered in the background, "School's over!"

"Is he nice?" Matthew tried again.

"We haven't really spoken yet..." Arthur trailed off.

"What'd you say to him?" Matthew asked. His first words to his soul mate blared through his mind like a car horn.

"I'll call you boys back," Arthur mumbled and stumbled towards the office door.

He was too tall, too French, too charming. That couldn't be his soul mate. It was all wrong. The Timer must be broken, frantically Arthur peeled the bracelet off his wrist. The Timer's five lines had disappeared and in it's place was a single line. A looping signature wrapped around Arthur's wrist, Francis Bonnefoy.

His heart thrummed in his chest like a bad pop song. Arthur watched the man through the glass. The tall blonde was standing talking to Ludwig. His arms were crossed and if Arthur hadn't noticed how delectable his soul mate looked before he sure did now. But French... why did he have to be French? Fear built in his stomach, just because he'd met the man didn't mean he had to pronounce his love right away, right? There was no rule saying he had to tell the other half. Besides _Francis,_ as he wrist so clearly labeled, hadn't recognized him. He didn't have a Timer, maybe he didn't want a soul mate since he certainly looked like he could afford one. Sick from his nerves, Arthur made his way over to the employee kitchen. He needed a cup of tea, very strong tea.

Arthur couldn't tell you how long he stood in the kitchen watching Ludwig and Francis. It was long enough for Arthur to notice the annoying way the other man gestured with his hands to illustrate what he was saying, that he popped one hip and slouched when standing and sprawled out loosely when sitting. When Arthur brought his tea to his lips, the cold liquid startled him. Spluttering, Arthur set the cup down. The cold shocked some sense into him. He was being a ruddy coward. Besides what if Ludwig halted his Timer Articles commissions because he didn't have the stones to talk with his soul mate? Arthur looked up for a clock, 9:02 am.

He quickly sent off a text message to Matthew and Alfred, "I'm going to speak with him now." Then he pushed himself away from the counter. He squared his shoulders and set his jaw. He'd be damned if he let that lily-livered frog cow him into silence. His hand didn't tremble when he knocked on Ludwig's door. The shouted enter was slow to come but Arthur didn't let it deter him.

"Ah Arthur, this isn't the best time," Ludwig grimaced at him.

Francis was leaning against the wall. The skin between his eyebrows was pinched.

"Terribly sorry, but I think this takes precedence," Arthur drawled with an confidence he didn't feel. He couldn't help but sneak a glance over at Francis. His soul mate's eyebrow had risen. Before anyone could say anything else Arthur ran his tongue over his teeth and blurt out, "It's about the Timer Articles."

Whatever Ludwig was going to say was stopped short. Francis's other eyebrow rose.

"I've been following those articles," and god help him because Arthur wanted to strangle the French lisp out of his voice. His Timer had to be broken.

"Is that your writing?" the Frenchmen continued.

Arthur glared at the blonde, "Yes, it's mine, you great French baboon."

Ludwig turned green, "Arthur this is Francis Bonnefoy," as if Arthur didn't know that, "he's one of the new Directors elected to the Board."

Arthur pressed his fist to his mouth and stifled a groan. Of course he was. Lovely, just lovely.

"Well that's splendid really..." Arthur screwed up his courage, "because this involves him too."

There was no other way to delay the inevitable, he'd be a man about this. Arthur thrust his left arm out palm up. Someone gasped his name and warm fingers closed around his hand.

"This is my name," came a hushed statement.

"Will your ability to state the obvious be an ongoing experience?" Arthur grumbled as he pointedly staring at the man's shiny shoes, "Because it's not an attractive quality."

The hand around his tightened and Arthur prepared for the Frenchmen to drop it, for him to declare it must be a mistake, for him to suggest they forget this happened. He was decidedly not prepared for a the man to pull him to his chest and _snuggle him_ like some kind of teddy bear.

"Unhand me!" Arthur exclaimed as his nose was mashed into the other man's jacket.

"I think not my petit rosbif," Francis nuzzled into his hair.

A throat cleared and Arthur looked up to see Ludwig looking extremely uncomfortable, "Perhaps you two will want to take some time to," he floundered for words, "get to know each other."

A strangled sound came from Arthur, "Ludwig!"

"I expect an article on these developments within the next two weeks," his boss continued, looking mildly more at ease discussing work, "At least fifteen hundred words. And the rest of your work is to be emailed in as well."

Arthur sounded like a dying fish, but Francis was already pulling him from the office with his hand wrapped around Arthur's. The rest of the floor quieted as they emerged. Arthur could just imagine how it looked. Prickly, skinny Arthur wrapped around a tall sex god. His green gaze cut down anyone who dared catch his eye, but more people were staring at his wrist. Face burning Arthur pulled his hand from Francis's and crossed his arms so no one could see the Timer's mark. Arthur grabbed his bag off his desk and stormed towards the lifts, terrified that Francis would follow him and terrified that he wouldn't.

He did. As they were heading down towards the lobby, they agreed to sit down at a café around the corner to talk. It was still crowded from the morning rush, but Arthur found the background chatter soothing. They both ordered, Arthur a black tea with milk and sugar and Francis a cappuccino. The men found themselves a small table by the back window. Francis folded his long limbs into the chair. Arthur tried not to compare his soul mate to any clichés, because the man was too graceful for words and more lovely than Arthur had been expecting.

"So tell me about yourself Arthur," Francis began with a small grin.

Arthur's nose wrinkled. That was, he was lovely when he wasn't speaking. But the man stayed silent and watchful. His blue eyes were as captivating as Northern Lights. Heat bled across Arthur's face. He wasn't prepared for this. He bit his lip in thought and cast his eyes across the back garden for inspiration. Bright yellow daisies bobbed in the breeze. Two silver rubbish bin glinted in the July sun. Might as well jump in.

"Well as you know I'm a writer," Arthur began, "And I have five brothers."

Francis's eyes rose, "Really? Are you the youngest?"

Arthur scowled, "No, I have two younger brothers, they're twelve... well thirteen today." Arthur laughed, "It's their birthday. They're twins."

A smile light up Francis's face, "Well happy birthday to them! I don't have any siblings," he admitted, "But I've always wanted one."

Arthur rolled his eyes, thinking of the early wake up call the other day, "They're not all that fantastic."

Francis laughed a deep rolling sound that drew Arthur's eyes to his soul mate. His head tilted back showing off a long neck. Slight golden scruff shone in the morning light. God, he was an ugly duckling next to this man. Arthur sucked it up though. He'd never claimed to be a great beauty.

"So where do you live? The Village? Battery Park?" Francis asked in between sips of his coffee.

Arthur's jaw clenched and he rolled his tongue across his teeth trying to decide what to say. It was that moment when Francis's blazer caught his eye. A small tag was peeking out from the hem, Armani. Arthur swallowed a lump in his throat. That jacket, carelessly draped over the dirty table, was worth more than Arthur's entire wardrobe. This was absolutely ridiculous. He'd been given a faulty Timer. Pushing his chair back, Arthur stood abruptly.

"Look this has been really fun and all, but I've got to go," Arthur scrambled for a legitimate excuse, "put money in the meter."

Francis jerked up also with a stricken look on his face. Arthur's heart twinged, but he ignored it.

Something in him was unwilling to completely give up the notion that this could work out so Arthur suggested, "Maybe we'll talk over the weekend?"

Before Francis could reply Arthur quickly scrawled his mobile number on a nearby napkin. Then he dashed from the café. Francis hollered behind him but Arthur took off for the car park. When he couldn't hear the annoying Frenchmen anymore Arthur slowed his frantic run. He scowled down at the footpath, that was two cups of tea today that he hadn't drunk.

* * *

><p>AN: One bit left to go! It might get posted as soon as tomorrow, but no later than the weekend!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Hey guys! This is our last segment of our The Timer Articles. I hope you've enjoyed it. I'm off to take the NYC tour guide license exam and I'm beyond nervous. Leave me a review of what you think so I'll have your thoughts (good or bad!) too keep my mind busy on the train.

* * *

><p>Like a priest at the altar, Arthur sat before his laptop silently. Seventh months ago the idea of him having a soul mate, let alone a French one, was beyond his wildest dreams. Yet now, he was somehow expected to digest the experience and materialize several hundreds of words on the overwhelming revelation which would then be read by complete strangers. It was lunacy.<p>

The fabric of his dressing gown pooled around his hips. Two empty beer cans sat side by side on the coffee table, tattooing watery rings into the wood. Arthur stared out his window. Nearly the entire view was of the wall next door, except for an anorexic line of sky that cut across the top. Greenwich Village, Arthur chuckled at the thought, if only.

Alfred and Matthew rode the bus home in the afternoon so Arthur lounged about drinking until inspiration struck him for his latest piece. Setting aside his third beer, Arthur began typing, professionalism be damned.

_To All You Timer-Sick Fools,_

_It doesn't help to have a Timer tells you who your soul mate is. In my case (and I'm sure many others) he didn't even know I was his soul mate. That means all the pressure falls on you because if you don't say something to them you've not only ruined your happy ending but theirs too. And a Timer doesn't make it any easier for you to get to know them. It doesn't magically transmit all of the pertinent information from them to you in a beam of light. As if that wasn't enough, there is no promise of unconditional love or "through sickness and in health" with your soul mate. They could keep seeing their boyfriend or wife or fiancée even though you're their..._

Arthur paused his stream of conscious as the words _other half_ resonating in his mind. The notion that he could grow to completely love another person only to loose them was terrifying… and that wasn't even taking Matthew and Alfred into consideration. God, if he ever had to choose between his brothers and his soul mate. It'd be worse than death and he'd end up resenting both parties. He deleted the previous dribble and wrote one line of absolute truth.

_I met my soul mate, but I'm too afraid to give him a chance because he could ruin me._

Snorting and more than a little buzzed, Arthur sent the one line off to Ludwig. He could chew on that for the next few days. Arthur sprawled across the couch, intent on sleeping back into sobriety, but before he could settle in an email lit up the screen. The flashing urgent symbol made him close his eyes and push the computer away with his foot. But even with his eyes closed Arthur could see the flashing. Angrily he opened the email just to rid himself of the nuisance.

_Arthur,_

_Your articles are now being published online in real time. The story is garnering too much popularity to wait for weekly segments. The readers like seeing your reactions as they occur. Upload the next update when your ready._

_Ludwig_

A link was included in the email and Arthur stared at it for several moments before clicking it. The webpage that opened was a professional black and white page. The clean lines gave him some distance to the situation. Arthur scrolled through past posts with a heavy heart.

* * *

><p>The smell of garlic and onions wafted through the flat. This was going to be his best dinner yet. A red sauce bubbled on the stove and the pasta just needed to be drained. The boys would love it. His mobile rang and Arthur paused to check the caller ID. It was a New York number. With a furrowed brow he picked it up.<p>

"Hello?"

"Salut Arthur," a lyrical voice greeted him.

Arthur grabbed the boiling pot in shock. It fell to the ground with a clatter and pasta spilled everywhere. Wide red blisters spread across the palm of Arthur's right hand and fingers. The man cursed and rushed to the sink. His mobile skidded under the counter with a tinny shout. The lukewarm water sent shards of pain lacing up his hand. Arthur hissed and stumbled over to the fridge to grab the mustard. He smeared the yellow condiment over the wound. Slowly the fire in his hand began to ebb. Something squished and Arthur looked under his foot to see a wayward noodle flattened to his sole.

"Bollocks," Arthur swore at the ruined dinner on the ground.

Gingerly he picked up the pot and swept up the noodles. The mustard left yellow finger prints on everything. He shook the ruined pasta into the bin. With a grumble he picked his way over to the takeaway menus. At least the boys would be pleased, they always preferred when he didn't cook. A red and yellow menu caught his eye.

"I'm ordering Thai!" Arthur called up the stairs, "What do you both want?"

"Yellow curry chicken!" came the unanimous response.

Arthur snorted but jotted down three yellow curries with chicken. He searched for his phone to place the order and the reason for the ruined dinner came rushing back to him. Quickly he searched for his mobile, finding it hiding with the dust bunnies under the cupboard.

"Francis, are you still there?" Arthur asked, but only the dial tone responded.

With a sigh, Arthur dialed the Thai place and left his order. His computer while he waited. Arthur didn't like talking on the phone, so he wasn't sure why he'd given Francis his number. But he'd made the attempt to call even after Arthur had left so spectacularly at the café. Maybe Francis thought it could work out? Didn't he owe it to the other man to try? Arthur huffed at the thoughts. It was easier when he only had himself and the boys to look after… and yet a small warmth drew his hands to the keyboard. With slow fingers, Arthur began typing.

_I live in Brooklyn with my two younger brothers. Our parents are dead and our older brothers are a disappointment. I'd never choose between the twins and you so, before we begin any kind of relationship, you'd need to accept that they would be part of our life. If that is agreeable to you then you should also know that I often write at night. Since I can't function without tea so I will undoubtedly ask you to run to the shops at midnight to replace an empty tin. Also because you are French I will likely call you every foul name at least once before we die. If after all of that you would still have me, then you will find me in the Rose Reading Room at the New York Public Library tomorrow at ten am._

Dried mustard flakes littered the keys like dandruff. The burn across his fingers forced Arthur to keep the letter short. That would have to do.

* * *

><p>Arthur stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was in serious need of a cut and his eyebrows seemed larger than yesterday. He wished he could afford braces to fix that snaggle tooth. His cheeks were rosy from the heat giving him a feverish look. A blue tie hung around his neck and Arthur tugged at it. The color was terrible and made the shadows under his eyes stand out even more. He switched it out for a black one and scowled. Now he looked like an over eager schoolboy on his first date.<p>

Arthur ripped the tie from his neck and ran a hand through his hair, "What was I thinking?" he demanded at the mirror. The twins were hanging out in his room while he got ready. Alfred drummed his heels against the bed while Matthew stared at him from upside down.

"Aw c'mon, it'll be ok," Alfred exclaimed hopping up.

Arthur threw the tie on the toilet seat and huffed. The plain grey button up was still fancier than he'd wear any other day. If only he could pull off making a jumper look trendy Arthur thought looking longingly at his wardrobe.

"He's your soul mate," Matthew piped up, "He's not going to care what you look like."

"You haven't seen him," Arthur said waspishly.

Matthew stuck his tongue out and Arthur pressed his fingers to his face. His jaw was too narrow. After all this was through Arthur wasn't going to look in a mirror for the rest of the summer.

"Maybe I should try the purple one again," he muttered.

Both boys groaned at that.

"What time did you say you were meeting him?" Alfred asked.

"Ten," Arthur hissed through clenched teeth. He played with his hair trying to make it look more stylish, "That's it. I'm not going."

At his declaration both boys stormed the loo. The squeezed into the tiny space and backed Arthur on to the toilet.

"You've gotta go!" Alfred exclaimed.

"You look great," Matthew assured him.

"I do not," Arthur muttered.

But apparently Matthew was done listening to him because he ordered, "Let's catch the subway," and Alfred went scrambling out of the room calling behind him that he'd get the tickets from the bowl. Matthew prodded him from the toliet. He didn't let Arthur pick his shoes or coat and in response Arthur grumbled all the way to the tube station. Alfred ran ahead and came back with a cup of tepid tea.

Arthur took it with a scowl, "You're both conspiring against me."

They laughed and pushed him into the subway carriage. Arthur slouched into a seat and leaned against the glass. Manhattan flickered before him like an old flip book. The Chrysler building glowed like molten silver and ferries chugged across the river below them.

Ordinarily it took forever to get anywhere in the city, but not today. Arthur was positive the universe was in cahoots with the boys. The leafy trees of Bryant park swayed behind the library and a Mr. Frosty's was parked on the corner. Teenagers posed along side the lions flanking the building. Arthur shuffled at the base of the stairs. With a look Alfred and Matthew each grabbed a hand and hauled him up the steps. Arthur stumbled along after them swearing the whole time.

Three years ago, Arthur stayed up alone on New Years Eve and watched Sex in the City. He hadn't been able to afford a babysitter for the boys and it was on cable. Unfortunately for him, now the scene where Carrie was left at the altar kept coming to mind. He couldn't stop himself from imagining the scene again with himself in her place.

"Where did you plan to meet him?" Matthew asked.

"You're both grounded until the end of time," Arthur replied.

"The Rose Reading Room," Alfred answered for him with a cheeky grin.

Arthur scowled at the boy. The Reading Room was enormous. Arthur was sure that subconsciously that was part of the reason he chose it. When Francis didn't turn up he could easily lose himself in the books that lined the walls. His mind had always dubbed the New York Public Library as Literary Heaven so it would be an excellent place of solace.

The Reading Room was humming when the three of them stepped into it. The air con had turned the world aloe cool. People were hard at work taking notes and flipping through books. Tourists wandered down the center aisle taking pictures of the ceiling. Arthur's eyes flicked through the room nervously searching for the long golden line of his soul mate.

He wasn't sitting at a table like Arthur imagined, rather he was leaning against the edge of a table in the center of the room. It was impossible to miss him. Arthur froze and even though Matthew and Alfred tugged at his hands, he couldn't move. Francis had come. Arthur's heart rose like a hot air balloon. He'd come.

A lifetime of people wove in and out of Arthur's sight like a symphony. Dimly he noticed that although Francis had a hip popped he wasn't slouching, but standing up tall and gazing around the room. Then Francis looked his way. A grin split across his face and the blonde pulled himself away from the table. Arthur's hands tightened around the twin's. His fears must have slipped on to his face because his soul mate's expression went as tender as a tulip.

Francis stopped a few paces in front of Arthur. The Briton numbly felt his brothers let go of his hands. Their eyes stayed on him though. He and Francis were like the sun at the center of a galaxy with all the other people spinning around them. Francis raised Arthur's wrist to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to the blue signature. Arthur's heart bucked in his chest at the gesture.

"Of course, that is agreeable," his soul mate whispered.

Arthur grinned so wide his eyes crinkled. It was an answer he hadn't even realized he'd been hoping for. He turned his hand into Francis's cheek and the other man pressed into the gesture like an affection-starved kitten. In that gesture Arthur could read the reason for his soul mate's decision clearly. The silent ache for love was something Arthur was all too familiar with. Arthur gazed at Francis, traces of a sun burn lingered under his golden tan and laugh lines beginning to form around his moth. With a nuzzle, Francis opened his eyes. Their color reminded Arthur of two pale chips of blue ice.

As if the foot of distance was too much Francis pulled Arthur into a tight hug and Arthur laughed like a child. His soul mate's musky cologne washed over Arthur. Francis's nose pressed into Arthur's sandy hair. Arthur knew what he'd smell, sandalwood and summer heat. Francis's hands went flat against Arthur's lower back, unconsciously kneading at the tense muscles and Arthur adore him a little more for that. Arthur's ears had been trained to hear for his brother's hidden tears for many years now, and even though he couldn't hear anything remotely like crying from his soul mate, the overwhelming feeling of fragility resonating from Francis made Arthur linger in the hug much longer than he would have otherwise.

Whispering pulled him out of the trace he'd fallen into and Arthur pulled away from Francis with a frown. Matthew and Alfred were both bright red, but grinning. Arthur was sure all their future teasing would stem from this moment. Francis pouted at the loss.

Clearing his throat Arthur pushed the twins foreword, "these are my brothers," he said.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you," they chorused together and in the back of his mind Arthur was proud at their manners.

The four of them shuffle for a moment, no one quiet sure what to do when Alfred piped up, "Well we're going to go to the computer room. Come get us when you're done!" With that statement he dragged his unresisting twin towards the stairs.

Francis's attention turned back to Arthur and the Brit wished that Francis could glimpse what he was like before he became an exhausted surrogate father and timid, over-worked immigrant. For him to see Arthur in his glory days, when he was punk strong and pirate cocky with a taste for adventure as wide as the oceans.

Francis asked, "Have you been here before?"

Arthur nodded, ignoring his emotions to reply, "Yeah it's," his voice cracked and a blush swept across his face, "it's one of my favorite places in the city."

Francis's expression turned wistful, "I've never been before. What is your favorite thing to see?" he asked.

A shy smile peeked across Arthur's face and he thought of all the treasures housed in the building. The answer he gave to answer wasn't the same one he'd give to someone else asking. To his brothers he might say the rough draft of the US Constitution or the original Winnie-the-Pooh in the children's section, but to his soul mate he said, "The Lenox-Hunt Globe."

Francis's head tilted, "Why that? What's so special about it?"

Arthur's eyebrows rose, "What's so special?" he spluttered, "it's the second oldest globe in the world! It nearly predates Columbus!"

Francis chuckled at his passionate response and Arthur led them towards the globe. While they walked he spoke about the hilarious shape of the Australia and complete nonexistence of North America. Francis threaded his arm around Arthur's waist and even though Arthur's first thought was to shrug him off, he didn't. Francis was someone he'd let hold him.

The End.


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